King of Kings
by Hakura
Summary: The coming of Haruka, what made her into the woman she is.
1. King of Kings - Prologue

disclaimer: I don't make claims to   
owning any of the characters of Sailor   
Moon. All rights go to those   
deserving of their creation. Technically   
all other characters do belong to me,   
but if anyone is interested in using any   
of them for whatever reason, all they   
need do is ask. Thank you.   
  
  
King of Kings  
Prologue  
  
"Let all those who come before me bow low,  
For I am the king of kings."  
~anonymous  
  
  
The sweat seemed unable even to disturb her, trickling down   
under her thin cotton shirt, under the boldly black lettering   
which even more boldly stated who and what she was through a   
number, and pooling in a small puddle in a low arch of her   
back. She straightened, stretched her arms into the sky   
above her head, and threw an undaunted glare in the sun's   
direction. And with a swipe of an arm she'd stopped the   
dribbling in its tracks and pushed the sandy blonde bangs   
away from her eyes and back into their appropriate position.  
  
She ignored the ceaseless chatter of voices surrounding her,   
choosing instead to direct her attention to the passionate   
stretching of every muscle in her legs. And when a girl   
beside her patted her shoulder and wished her luck with a   
genuinely kind smile, she only grunted in response, never   
lifting her eyes from the task before her.  
  
To her right, the other girl (a petite redhead with wide   
set eyes) watched with an awed silence. She cast a shy   
glance to the well-developed muscles of her neighbor, feeling   
not jealousy, but determination. She wished to be like this   
girl. To throw herself across the track with nothing but sheer   
strength, sheer ability, while showing very little effort   
outwardly. It was the one thought that captured her mind   
whenever she saw the tall girl, who had paused again in her   
stretching to survey the track's layout with a careless hand   
blocking the sun.  
  
Of course, she admitted, this was all the girl seemed to care   
about. When the sun rained down, and the team gathered   
excitedly to the track and their places behind the line, the   
blonde left all but that shimmering purpose behind. She seemed   
to not even recognize those around her, or care if she did.   
She became pure energy. Pure beauty, the little girl thought,   
with a flaming blush.  
  
At last the redhead turned her face forward to prepare herself.   
Her companion faced forward as well and had someone been   
watching, they would see the slightest of quivers pass over her   
lips, the smallest tinges of fear prying at her face. In one   
little moment her face was cracked to reveal one lying behind it,   
desperate to break through, but unable to.  
  
But nobody saw and, in only another moment's passing, she and   
the wind had left them all behind to be lost in the dust.  
  
  
  
e-mail: shino_hakura@hotmail.com 


	2. King of Kings - Part I

disclaimer: I don't make claims to   
owning any of the characters of Sailor   
Moon. All rights go to those   
deserving of their creation. Technically   
all other characters do belong to me,   
but if anyone is interested in using any   
of them for whatever reason, all they   
need do is ask. Thank you.   
  
  
King of Kings  
Part I  
  
"Let all those who come before me bow low,  
For I am the king of kings."  
~anonymous  
  
  
  
She tore desperately, fingers arching into razor-sharp talons   
fit to pry and pull, through what felt like waves of bodies.   
Her heart beat up, up into her throat and her head pounded   
with a dull senseless aching, ringing in voluptuous plenty   
within her mind. With the air of a wild animal at last   
trapped in a corner, she clamped both of her tiny sweat-  
covered hands over her ears but still...still the taunting   
voices conquered, crying clearly above the humbled silence.  
  
"Chikai-chan..." a singing voice was singled out, rising   
above the rest and dripping with the sound of what could   
only be called malicious mocking, but then falling back again   
to be lost in the sea.  
  
She ran, stumbling, nearly falling, praying the long blonde   
strands of hair flying about her face could mask the two   
warm streams of salty liquid traveling down over her cheeks,   
flowing so freely from the heated corners of her eyes.  
  
And then in an instant she'd stumbled too far to catch herself,   
and was falling to a rapidly approaching ground. She landed   
on the uneven pavement not unlike a doll that has been cast   
away in disgust. It too seemed to ridicule her, hot stone   
tearing through the tender flesh of her knees like the metallic   
glinting blade of a freshly sharpened knife.  
  
Her throat released a low guttural whine with the sudden   
onslaught of pain, wishing to be allowed to break into a cry,   
but at the same time unable to move past the tangled knot of   
fear caught deeply within. She rose, trembling on uncertain   
legs, and paused for only a moment to catch her breath before   
continuing on to leave the wailing of voices far behind in the   
distance.  
  
She ran.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Even after brushing with the supposedly powerful mint   
toothpaste, his breath still carried heavy traces of alcohol.   
The scent given off of the biting mint entwined with the bitter   
drink invaded her nose and festered there as if to rot. She   
winced, shut her eyes, and prayed for an end.  
  
Thankfully he took no notice, pressing his chapped lips to her   
own broken, bruised, and bleeding ones and scratching her with   
unshaven whiskers in the process. His rough, calloused hands   
held her body pressed tight against his own, and then jerked   
her still more roughly away, with an unreadable grunt.  
  
She remained where she stood, arms hanging limp, and licked   
sullenly at her coppery-tasting blood while listening to him   
shuffle heavily about the room. She flinched involuntarily   
with the fall of every footstep, the heaving of every breath,   
but fought the urge to move until she caught the distinct sound   
of the front door opening, and closing with a slam. His smell   
lingered in the air around her, she noted, even without his   
body present.   
  
She felt nauseous.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
One of the bulbs in the bathroom sparked with electricity and   
fell into blackness when she flipped the switch, casting still   
more shadows in the dimly lit room than usual. She made no   
move to fix it, however. She preferred it that way.  
  
The face looking back at her in the mirror was hardly one she   
recognized. The wide-set green eyes had a dull filmy glaze   
distorting their color and the right one had faint traces of   
bruised skin surrounding it. She prodded deftly at the   
discolored skin of her cheek and winced, biting her lip in   
pain, and then winced again, biting her tongue to keep a scream   
from hurling out. From experience she knew it would be a deep   
shade of blue by the following morning.  
  
Aside from that she saw, with the smallest of sighs passing   
her lips, her hair looked far worse today than it had in ages.   
The glossy, shimmering blonde tresses had vanished, leaving   
in their stead thin strands that threatened to break in two   
every time a comb was forced through them. Even the hand   
resting on her chin looked foreign, seemingly years ahead of   
its age.  
  
Zensha.  
  
Years and years ago, long before he'd moved in, and long   
before she'd given birth to Chikai, she'd asked her own mother   
her reason for naming her as she had. Her mother had only   
smiled, weathered and weak but a smile nonetheless, and said   
that her belief was a name is very little more than a word.   
Whether a person lives according to its meaning or not is   
their own choice, for there is no greater power causing them   
to do so. The discussion came to an end before Zensha had been   
able to learn what she really wished to know.  
  
'The former,' Zensha meant, theoretically. No more, no less.   
In her eyes it had come true, for the face opposite her own   
looked as though it had been washed away to be forgotten now   
and perhaps remembered as a passing thought one day. But that   
day was not today and so the face watching her, contorting   
itself under a deep shadow, laughed a silent laugh.  
  
She sighed again, pushing away her thoughts and leaned forward   
to remove the slim makeup compacts from the sink cabinet, and   
groped downwards for the faucet. The old handle screeched   
in rebellion, but at last icy cold water spurted from it,   
spilling into the chipped sink below. The cold stung her face   
without mercy, but she was relieved the furiously rushing   
water drowned out her breaking sobs, dissolving them into   
nonexistence.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
It was only when she reached the familiar corner of her own   
block that Chikai dared to pause, chest heaving with exhaustion,   
heart racing. The fact that she was often forced to run home   
from school had not, as she had vaguely hoped, helped her to   
build herself up physically. The exertion still cast a heavy   
toll on her body.  
  
She snatched the strap holding her pile of books together on   
the path, biting her lip hard to remind herself not to look   
at her knee. It throbbed to remind her of its existence, but   
she knew she could handle it up until the moment she had to   
see the blood. Then it would be over. She would be besieged   
by a pain that was barely there now, and deliver herself as a   
sobbing mass to her mother's feet.  
  
That would certainly never do.   
  
So instead she pushed her long blonde hair away from her eyes   
with a small hand, hoisted the books more securely in her   
arms, and took off on her way.  
  
On the sight of her home, nestled awkwardly between two much   
larger houses, the torn skin of her knee immediately flew   
to her mind as topmost importance, trampling any previous   
thoughts of bravery. The wailing sobs of a child escaped her   
lips, precisely at the same moment hot tears again splashed   
to her cheeks. She hobbled to the front door, cries   
increasing.  
  
Zensha's slender form seemed to materialize from thin air   
in the doorway in front of her, face masked behind the   
overhanging shadow. Chikai stopped dead in her tracks,   
sniffling but not speaking.  
  
She remembered a time when she had arrived home in a similar   
state, grabbed hold of her mother's leg, soaking it with   
tears in the process, and revealed to her everything.   
The jeers, the laughs, the pointed fingers, the loneliness   
felt when she knew she had been purposely left out,   
purposely forgotten. The words were intermingled with choking   
sobs, and muffled through fabric, but Zensha had listened   
patiently, though with a perturbed air unnoticeable to the   
child.  
  
And when Chikai had peered up at the stately figure from her   
little crumpled ball, peered at her through wet, but hopeful,   
eyes, the face she saw frightened her. She didn't know quite   
how to describe it. Her mother's lips had been tightly   
pressed, near white as if in anger, but her eyes were hollowed   
green husks, mere shells, seeing only something before   
her that horrified her.  
  
Chikai was never quite sure why, nor had she ever asked, but   
in that one moment it was clear to her that what she had   
said had placed that face over her mother's familiar one.   
Her words had struck deep fear into those eyes.   
  
Since then the face had haunted her through her worst bouts   
of fright, causing her to resolve herself- even at the   
tender age of nine years passed -to doing whatever she   
could to ensure it would never again come before her. Even   
though it was often no use, and the tears would fall, she   
still felt better having tried.  
  
And so she gulped back her tears, standing stiffly before   
the doorway and her mother. When the knee throbbed, she bit   
her lip harder.  
  
In turn, Zensha studied the girl before her, her daughter.   
It both surprised and worried her that the child had stopped   
crying in spite of the blood-red liquid trickling in thinly   
winding lines down her leg to stain her little white sock.   
Her shoulders trembled, but she obviously fought the urge   
to continue crying or to even raise her eyes to meet gazes.  
  
It was with a heavy heart that Zensha at last pushed open   
the screen door, reached down to retrieve the books at her   
daughter's feet, and held the door open for her to enter.   
She watched the little blonde head bob past her in its   
limping gait, heading down the long hallway.  
  
It was a familiar room for both of them, the bathroom.   
Time and again Chikai had arrived home, sometimes crying   
and sometimes struggling not to, with blood staining her   
arms, her legs, and once even her head. Only on one occasion   
had she offered an explanation for their occurrence and   
never again.  
  
Once, Zensha recalled, the girl had arrived in the front   
yard in near-screams, having dropped her books far behind,   
and shown her, amidst wails, an arm covered in blood. Her   
cries had continued into the bathroom, teasing Zensha's   
mind into a pounding headache. At last she had grown   
frustrated with the child, and slapped her swiftly across   
the face. Chikai's eyes had widened, throat went silent   
save a short-lived croak, and she had shrunk away into a ball.   
Though it was not a particularly hard slap, and didn't   
leave any marks, that had been the first and only time she'd   
ever struck her daughter, the memory imbedding itself deeply   
within her mind.  
  
Today they were silent, each lost within their own thoughts.   
Chikai felt more tears well up in the face of the fresh pain   
she experienced with the application of ice water to her   
wounded knee, but managed to fight them back after only a   
scattered few found their way down her cheeks.  
  
Zensha made a small disapproving sound in the back of her   
throat, more out of built-up frustration over her day than   
over Chikai, but the girl steadied herself all the same.   
She watched her mother's concentrated face through the   
grimy mirror, squinting in the poor light, and thought she   
caught sight of a mark on her cheek, the faintest violet   
color. But it was lost the next instant into shadow.  
  
Bringing forth a little sound from her throat again,   
Zensha rubbed furiously at the blood-stained leg. She   
reached blindly into the sink for fresh cold water, still   
spurting from the faucet in angry gurgles, and pressed it   
against the source of the bleeding. To her the task was a   
familiar one, and one that she carried out in a hustled   
manner with little attention paid to what she was doing.   
  
When she chanced to glance upwards, it was to see the   
child's tears falling once more.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Chikai's gaze traveled wildly over the brilliant black and   
white images, pausing occasionally to admire one that was   
exceptionally beautiful. Her lips moved with the words,   
opening and closing in a nearly imperceptible manner. Then   
green eyes opened wide and she leaned in closer to the page,   
bobbing her head down and across, and turning the page so   
quickly that it nearly tore.   
  
She lay sprawled on the floor of the living room under the   
tall corner lamp, hair pooling about her little head in   
waves of tangled blonde. Her legs dangled carelessly towards   
the ceiling, bandaged knee forgotten in her excitement in   
reading her favorite manga.  
  
It was called "Do Yoroi," a decently sized tale contained   
in nine books other than the one held in her hands, which   
was only the fifth in the series. The heroine, a dazzling   
girl by the name of Shino Hakura, began her journey with   
a decision to join the king's army and so revenge herself   
against those who had brutally slain first her father,   
and then her brother and mother. They opposed the king   
himself, and all those who dared to remain loyal to him as   
Hakura's father had struggled to do so.  
  
And so, Hakura disguised herself as a man and worked   
hard for many years to gain the position of a knight.   
Unfortunately along the way she fell in love with the   
king's son, while his cousin, a lovely woman, fell for   
Hakura thinking she was a man. Though the cousin remained   
adamant about her affection in her gentle mannerisms and   
tender words, Hakura never realized it.  
  
This, Chikai had never understood. In her eyes the young   
prince was as nice to look at as a man could be, but   
was at the same time brash, and brusque in his manners   
with people he associated himself with. However his   
cousin was beautiful, graceful, and soft-spoken. Chikai   
admired the colored drawings of her, showing a slender   
girl with long flowing hair falling nearly to her knees   
and of the softest gold, whose large magenta eyes were   
peaceful but unsettled at the same time.  
  
She flipped another page.  
  
In this volume Hakura is at last able to join the ranks   
of the king's men. She travels alongside the prince,   
but from the very moment they set out, he changes before   
her eyes, into a spineless coward afraid to fight even   
for his own father's name. He takes his faithful Hakura   
into his confidence, suggesting to her that they bribe   
the men into returning early with claims of brave heroism.   
The unexpected transformation pierces Hakura's heart like   
ice, changing her, in turn, into a true warrior as well as   
reminding her of the reason she decided to join in the   
first place. Her heart closes to the thought of love.  
  
"Oh..." Chikai breathed. She shifted on the uncomfortable   
wooden floor into a better-suited position, peering   
intently at the face of the girl on the page. It was in   
color, allowing her to marvel over the contours of Hakura's   
face, the flowing lines of her body, the coppery hair   
spilling over her shoulders in tangles from the wind. But   
it was her eyes that interested Chikai the most. They   
watched something unseen in the distance, shimmering in a   
silvery gray color as purely cut as if it they had been made   
of stone. Chikai shivered in the face of the icy determination,   
but in her heart she thrilled over it.  
  
She let her eyes linger a moment longer before flipping   
the page.  
  
The girl squeaked, shutting the book with a snap. Hakura   
had been in the midst of battle, and wounded because of it.   
Even in black and white, the blood stood before her a menacing   
reminder of her own reality.  
  
She tossed the book from her, watching it slide to a   
satisfactory distance away from her on the floor. Hakura   
on the cover stared at her, mouth smiling but eyes cold.  
  
The book, characters, story, and all was lost to her mind   
the next instant when her ears caught the faint sound of   
heavy footsteps heading up the front walk. Heart racing,   
she leapt to her feet, skittered across the floor to   
retrieve her manga, and thundered into the hallway leading   
to her room. Only when the door was in front of her did   
she remember her pounding knee and so limped the rest of   
the way into the room.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Zensha bristled sharply with the slamming of the front   
door, reaching out to steady a pan hanging on a hook on   
the kitchen's wall. She heard him grunt, clear his throat,   
and pound down the hallway. From the heaviness of each   
step, she could already tell his mood had not improved   
since the afternoon. She was glad Chikai had gone to her   
room already, though, to be truthful, she also felt envious.  
  
She sighed. Maybe that wasn't quite fair. His "bad moods"   
had been coming about on a near daily basis, but it was   
largely due to his failing job. He'd been given hints that   
there would be some layoffs shortly and that unless he worked   
harder, he would find his name on the list. Still, even   
while she thought up excuses, her heart refused to accept them.   
It knew better.  
  
And then he was there, looming in the doorway, watching her   
wrinkled hands scrub dishes with soapy water. She paused,   
waited for a moment- made longer by the eyes she knew   
were glaring into her face without looking up -and finally   
found herself saying, in a voice little above a whisper,   
"It's in the refrigerator. Chikai and I ate already, not   
knowing when you'd be home."  
  
He seemed to ponder her words for another long quiet moment   
before heading to the waiting food. Zensha shut her eyes,   
tight.   
  
  
*****  
  
  
Chikai could taste remnants of her supper coating her teeth,   
but she didn't dare leave the room to brush it away. She used   
her tongue to loosen and wash away as much as she could, though   
it tasted sour.  
  
Sleep was stubborn in coming, so instead she turned her   
attention to the black air above her head. Before her very   
eyes the black sheet appeared to mold itself into images of all   
kinds, floating and flying above her. It never ceased to amaze   
her that something could be made from nothing, that color   
could be separated from a deep well of black.  
  
She folded both slender arms behind her skull, smiles forming   
on her lips from the pictures she watched. They danced, they   
played, they leapt, they soared. They put on a show that she   
alone would enjoy and would never have to share with a soul.  
  
Her concentration was broken, minutes later, by voices in the   
bedroom next to hers. His, a deep rumble, a sound that seemed   
to shake the very foundation on which the house perched, and   
her mother's shaky, and always soft whisper. Chikai sat up to   
listen more carefully.  
  
"So you think you're already on the list?" her mother was   
saying.  
  
"If the same idiot who almost lost our last deal is in charge,   
I'm sure of it," he said, like a bear just rudely awakened   
after a long sleep. "They're all idiots. Without me that   
company is nothing. Nothing! I may just as well quit."  
  
Zensha's voice grew even softer, if possible, "What will we   
do...?"   
  
When he didn't reply she continued, "There are groceries to   
be bought, bills to be paid off, always something or another   
for Chikai. How will we manage without your job?" She   
waited another moment, "I suppose I could get a job..."  
  
Chikai jumped and nearly yelped, with the slamming of his   
fist against the wall next to her bed. Her mother had   
gone just a little too far.  
  
"Stupid woman!" he shouted, as if through clenched teeth.   
"Trying to make me look worthless? Like I need you to   
provide for me?!" Chikai gulped, diving for the safety   
of her warm bed. She stuck her head under the pillow to   
muffle the beating sound of fist striking flesh that   
she knew would come next.  
  
Somehow she managed to fall asleep in the same position,   
with her breathing coming slowly with the deep slumber.   
She dreamed of the colored images she had watched fly   
overhead and towards the end a voice was calling to her,   
completely unalike to those she had been listening to.   
However, in the morning she couldn't recall any dreams,   
much less a beckoning call.  
  
  
  
e-mail: shino_hakura@hotmail.com 


End file.
